Sherlock's Fears
by Seth-Pasrahcal
Summary: This is the english version of my story "Sherlocks Angst". I hope you'll enjoy it.


**Sherlock's Fears**

Rated: T

Pair: SHxJW, established relationship

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, everything belongs to Moffat, Gatis sand – of course – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

A/N: This is myfirst Sherlock ficand on top ofit, it's my first try towrite a silly-ff. But I hope you will enjoy it anyways.

Thanks to my betareader erlallosta^^

**Sherlock's Fears**

„I'm back", the sound of John Watson's voice rang through 221B Baker Street and Sherlock Holmes rolled his eyes. Not a typical gesture to the arrival of John. HIS John. But at the moment, a meeting with the doctor usually resulted in quite unpleasant discussions. Sherlock was bored by all the talking and him going on and on about it but John seemed to be very keen on settling this matter.

The consulting detective had come up with many ideas to avoid the lectures which were definite to come:

Fake – but absolutely vital – calls from DI Lestrade (that didn't work because John knew how he hated to phone if he didn't have to), drugging John with sleeping pills in his tea ( which failed because after Sherlock drugging John at Dartmoor, he never excepted anything from Sherlock if he wasn't present when he prepared it). Sherlock even went on a meeting with Mycroft to avoid the tiresome discussions for once.

But there was no escape now: John had towered over Sherlock who lay on the couch, being bored. The younger one didn't even have the chance to get up from his position.

"Go ahead, go on. I know every word of your speech and I'm going to be bored to death. But we should just get it over with."

The blonde shook his head: "I can't understand you, Sherlock. What the hell is your problem? What is so bad about it? You are not going to be killed there, you know? And it seriously can't be any more dangerous than our encounter with the bloody cabbie or the thing with the hound in Dartmoor. Just tell me: What is your bloody problem?"

John looked at his partner, puzzled. Sherlock couldn't even bring himself to answer. He had sat this out many times before and he would sit it out today, too.

A few moments later, he realized that the former military doctor would not back down this time. Sherlock sighed.

"I don't like someone working on – or to be more specific – _in _me. That's all!"

"Well, I wouldn't put it THAT way, my dear!" John couldn't help but grin smutty. The consulting detective's cheeks turned slightly pink: "You know perfectly well that I am talking about something else."

John couldn't stop himself from smiling: "Oh come on, let me be the one teasing you for once. You are doing that to me at least twice a day."

Suddenly, John turned to being serious again: "You know that you have to go. And because I know that too, I got you an appointment. It would never work out otherwise."

"Excuse me? You do remember that I am not a child. I am very much capable of deciding things on my own." Disbelief combined with a slight hint of panic showed in the detective's eyes.

"You'll just have to accept it: All the time we live here together, you didn't go there one single time. You don't need to be a genius or a sociopath to deduce that you won't change anything about it without my doing. That's why you are going to Dr. Freebush tomorrow at 9 am. And that marks the end of this discussion."

John started to be more than just a little annoyed about the stubbornness of his boyfriend. He needed a moment to interpret the mixture of shock and surprise on Sherlock's face: "How…?"

"How do I know that he is your doctor? Believe me, Sherlock, your brother can be very talkative when he is worried about you."

"Mycroft…" Sherlock made a mental note to kill his brother when they meet again.

"Anyways, even if I have to drag you there, you won't shirk it this time."

Obviously, Mycroft did not only tell John the name of the hated doctor but also some of Sherlock's "avoidance techniques".

At their next meeting, he would first _torture_ Mycroft and kill him _slowly_, Sherlock thought. That was for sure.

At his younger days, Sherlock came up with many different ideas.

It began with pretended illnesses, school or uni appointments to allegedly unbelievably important meetings with DI Lestrade or another Yarder that brooked no delay. Sometimes he left the house in time and just went past the surgery.

Of course it never passed unnoticed. His mother and brother got angry with him every time and as a result, Sherlock was taken to the newly made appointment by his mother or brother.

All this ended around the time when Sherlock turned 20 and refused to go ever again. Back then, he had announced that he would never pay another visit to that doctor. It seems that he was about to be taught otherwise.

"And how exactly are you going to do it? Will you drug me or what?"  
"I will if I have to. That would at least be a solution. AND you would not remember too much about it afterwards."

"Even if you won't get that from me when offering me drugs again: No, thank you!"

The young consulting detective just wanted to put an end to this unnerving conversation. He was already thinking about a way to trick John tomorrow. He closed his eyes and shut all external impressions. He did everything he could not to think about the next morning.

Time passed and Sherlock didn't even look at John getting up, shaking his head and leaving for the bedroom late that night. It went unnoticed how the noises from the street in front of 221B were growing quieter and quieter, never dying away completely.

Sherlock didn't notice how the night turned into new morning. The man was lost in his thoughts all the time.

It was not surprising that his limbs hurt when John pulled him out of his mind palace and back to reality. He didn't get any closer to a solution to this particular problem.

There was only one thing the dark-haired man was absolutely certain about: He neither wanted to lead John up the garden path nor disappoint him. Whether he liked it or not, he would have to take the bitter pill and go to the bloody surgery today.

He stood up with a pained expression on his face to take a lengthy shower while John went to the kitchen to prepare tea for himself and coffee for his Sherlock.

When Sherlock returned to the living room, a cup of coffee was waiting for him, no milk, 2 sugars. John had prepared breakfast in the living room, because the kitchen table was overloaded with all kinds of equipment of Sherlock's various experiments. The former military doctor had made himself comfortable on the sofa, waiting for the younger man to join him.

The detective took a sip of his coffee. He enjoyed the heat that found it's way to his stomach.

Sherlock didn't lay a single finger on the bread with jam that John had made. Nothing would get him to eat anything now. John seemed to know that: Just this once he didn't make a comment on his boyfriend's eating habits. Instead, he moved his left hand to Sherlock's right and intertwined their fingers.  
Sherlock looked up from his coffee and looked at his friend, their eyes locking. He hesitated a moment before asking: "Would you…would you mind coming with me? I know that I will not go if I am alone…"

He stopped. But John seemed to understand anyway. He smiled a little and nodded before placing a hardly noticeable kiss on Sherlock's forehead.

"I will come with you if you want to."

Sherlock nodded in silence and leant into the older man.

This peace was not to last long: After a couple of minutes, John began to speak: "I think we should leave soon." He stood and took the dark-haired man with him.

"It's not that I have a choice, do I?"

"No, you don't. But if you behave, I will get you a reward."

The ex-military man grinned a little. "You can choose what you want."

"John, I am NOT a child," Sherlock complained half-heartedly whereupon John chuckled.

Sherlock left for his room and came back a few moments later, more or less prepared to leave the house.

The two men hailed a cab and took off to the surgery in one of the noble parts of London.

The younger man became more and more silent by the minute, his body tensed.

John noticed the signs of growing panic; he was a doctor after all. He tried to soothe the other man by stroking over his hand and arm. That didn't change much. But John hoped it would keep the fear at bay if it wasn't sufficient to make the panic disappear.

About one hour later, the two entered the surgery. If it wasn't for the slightly unpleasant smell of the disinfectant, you could nearly feel comfortable. The walls were painted in a warm shade of yellow, there was a vase with nice fresh flowers and in the waiting room was an aquarium. John doubted that this was helping to calm the waiting patients. At the front desk sat a middle-aged woman. She smiled at the two men and asked who the patient was and who the company.

"Mr Holmes has an appointment," John answered for Sherlock who didn't want to speak (or couldn't, for that matter). The woman gave him a comforting smile: "You don't need to be afraid, Mr Holmes. We specialize in patients with fear and panic problems. will be looking after you soon. If you would be so kind to wait a few more minutes?"

She gestured to the waiting room.  
'It is a miracle he is still practising. He has to be an old man by now', Sherlock thought.

As soon as he had sat down in the waiting room, Sherlock's hands clenched into fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. Again, John's hands wandered off to his friend's. His fingertips brushed slightly over the younger man's skin, his touch very delicate. This time it seemed to work better than in the cab: Sherlock could relax as far as to unclench his fists a little.

In this very moment, a young woman peeked into the waiting room: "Mr Sherlock Holmes, please!"

Before Sherlock got up, John whispered in his ear: "Everything will be alright. Remember that I am here, waiting for you. Or you could think about how I can reward you later."

The older man smiled at him reassuringly once again when Sherlock looked back at him from the door before following the nurse to the office.

"I didn't think I would ever meet you again, Sherlock. Or do I need to address you as 'Mr Holmes' now?" The consulting detective heard from behind his back. There was a little smile in the voice.

"If it was up to me, I wouldn't be here…", Sherlock murmured. But his comment went unnoticed.

Sherlock could still not see the man behind the voice, because he was already seated in the doctor's chair. He was condemned to look at all sorts of medical equipment. Sherlock tried to ignore what these instruments would soon be used for and stared out of the window.

The man who was now stepping in the consulting detective's field of vision still looked like he did years ago. Except that he was now around 65. Time seemed to have passed him by without affecting the man's appearance. There was only one thing that had changed: the doctor was not wearing a white coat – if it was because of Sherlock or if he did it all the time was not for the young man to tell. Instead, he wore a button-down shirt and a pair of jeans.

'If that is supposed to help, he is very much mistaken', Sherlock thought. As he turned his head to face the doctor he said: "Sherlock is fine."

He pressed his lips together while speaking with difficulty.

"Alright, Sherlock. Please try to relax a little now. I know it is difficult, but it will be over soon", replied the doctor, "and please open your mouth."

Sherlock reluctantly did as he was asked. His thoughts drifted further and further away. To John and basically everywhere, just away from this bloody chair in which he sat, nearly brought to a horizontal position…

It took about half an hour. John sat there and waited for his partner to come out of the doctor's office again. For him, it seemed to be an eternity. Of course, he had a bit of a bad conscience because he had forced him to come here and, to be honest, he was a bit concerned about the younger man.

When Sherlock came back to the waiting room, he was white as a sheet. But John could tell he was feeling better than before because he already could make vicious comments.

"I take it you want to hear something like 'He didn't even have to drill a tooth!' don't you? FORGET IT! It WAS terrible! Your reward has to be a really good one to make up with what you put me through today. I hope you are aware of that?"

"I didn't think it would be enough to promise you I would never post something like 'The great Sherlock Holmes is afraid of going to the dentist's' on my blog."  
Again, John had to bite down a chuckle. The shocked expression on his boyfriend's face was worth a million.

"I. Warn. You!" Sherlock's grey eyes sent daggers in John's direction. But he knew how to soothe his detective by placing a kiss on the lips that were pressed together to a thin line.

When they reached the door of 221B, he whispered in the younger man's ear, his voice an unambiguous demand: "Well now, come and get your reward!"


End file.
